The Tributes of District 2
by JessiJessi
Summary: "What?" Cato says while smirking cruelly. "Are you gonna cry or something?" He barks out a laugh and ruffles my hair as he continues to walk passed me. "Don't worry, kid. It's not like I volunteered for you or something."
1. The Reaping

_Author's Note: In the books, Clove is fifteen and Cato is sixteen. In the movie, she's sixteen while he's eighteen. (I researched, don't judge me .) So I'm going to compromise them and have Clove as fifteen and Cato as eighteen._

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**Chapter One**

It's just a little bit past dawn and I can't take it anymore. Quietly, I slip out of bed, already dressed from the night before, and into my slippers. In my fuzzy slippers, I'm almost soundless, no matter how dorky they are. I manage not to slip on the stairs and break my neck and went for the door. At times like these, I dislike having a big house. Of course, it can't be helped, what with my mother and father being so popular in the Career Training community. Plus, my two older brothers making a nice living by Peacekeeping in the nicer districts like One or Four. Still, as I switched my fuzzy slippers for my runners, I can't help but get slightly annoyed at the unused vastness that can easily reverberate my footsteps.

It's reaping day.

I quietly close the door behind me and start on an early morning jog to ease my nerves. It's not like I'm nervous or anything – far from it, actually. Honestly, I'm excited. This is my year, I know it. There are still two potential Games I could be entered into, but after four years, I'm far too impatient. For about an hour, I jog at a steady pace, focusing on my breathing. A little thing I've come up with that calms me down are the thought of the hundreds of knives I've worked with. The heaviness of each one in my hand, knowing exactly how to throw it. The sharpness of each tip and identifying the amount of pressure needed to puncture the skin. It's thoughts like these that will help me in the arena. With ease, I jog with nothing but blades running over the walls of my mind.

Without my noticing, I wind up in front of a blue door of a yellow house. It's roughly the same size as mine; two stories, two more floors below the ground level. The door opens even though I don't remember knocking. Maybe I did. I'm so out of it this morning.

A pretty blonde girl with sleepy blue eyes opens the door for me. From the looks of her, she hasn't even changed out of her nightgown. "Hey, stupid," she mumbled.

"Hey, Lune," I say with a half grin, sweeping past her and into her house. "How are you still asleep, today of all days?"

"Shut up, idiot," I could hear the frown in her voice as she shuffled after me. "Not everyone is as enthusiastic as you, loser."

Lune Pitney knows full well that my name is Clove Silver. Still, I don't recall a time where she's ever called me by anything but insults. Even then, she's my best friend, insults or not. We first met at the training academy that we're – legally – not supposed to have. But no one has ever said anything, so whatever, right? At least, that's what Lune says. We have the same mindset; winning is everything, no matter what it is. Maybe that's why we're so close.

"Yeah, right. I bet you're itching to get your hands on a javelin," I wave her off as I pick an apple from her countertop in the kitchen. I take a nice bite out of it while casually glancing around. Or, what I hope is casual. Her main floor is an open space, only countertops and furniture distinguish the TV room from the kitchen.

Lune presses a button on the wall and the smell of coffee floods the air. "He's not here, you know."

I bite into my cheek and wince at the taste of iron. "Who?"

"You know who, shortie. Want to know where he is?" she rubbed her eyes, looking to be half-asleep. But obviously conscious enough to torment me.

The television is on, despite no one watching. I'm suddenly very interested in the news castors filming the escorts on their way to their assigned districts. The apple in my hand shrinks as I eat away at it, keeping my back to Lune. But I can feel her eyes like small, acutely sharpened daggers digging into the back of my head. To get her to stop it already, I snort. "Why would I want to know where he is?" As the words left my lips, I immediately regretted them. I look at Lune from the corner of my eye and see her satisfied smirk.

Sometimes it really sucks when your best friend can read you like an open book.

"We should start getting ready," I say dismissively.

A loud, unnecessary groan droned out from her. "It's at two. And it's, like, eight right now! Can't we just relax for a while? I want to go back to bed…"

Although Lune has this pretense of being so nonchalant about almost everything, I know she's as on edge with excitement as I am. In the academy, she complains all through the standard workouts and even more in the cool downs. When I first met her, at age eight, I wanted to ram a butter knife into her eye. I thought I would be doing her a favor, since it would be much painless than the deaths she would receive in the arena – if she were reaped – since she seemed so useless. Honestly, why become a Career when you're going to be so stupid about it? But, once her hands brush against the javelins she's had specialized, Lune emits this aura of pure domination and determination.

_Winning is everything._

I guess that characteristic of hers runs in the family. Her parents are also Career trainers in the academy, which explains our similar houses. Her father reminds me of a rather large bear; with his brutish face and hearty laugh. Everything about her mother is sharp and pointed; her features and her stare. Lune has certainly inherited her mother's stare, a stare like a small, acutely sharpened blade. In fact, it's Lune's mother who especially trained me to be the prodigal knife thrower I am.

"Well, since I plan on going to the Capitol today, I better look perfect."

I go to throw out the core of my apple and see Lune giving me a slightly approving look. This is pretty rare since Lune is usually so condescending. Or too lazy to praise anyone. "You've been taking out tesserae?"

A smirk plays across my lips and I go up her stairs. My dress is already in her room, hanging in her closet, waiting for me to show it off to the Capitol. Yes, I have been taking out tesserae. Not many people remember it. Yeah, we still have our poor areas, but District 2 is rich in our industries. How many people really need such an inadequate amount of oil and low quality grain every month? However, for a year's supply of such, one's name is added into the reaping. And one can get tesserae for family members as well. One for myself, another for my father, my mother, my two older brothers. The best part of it all? All entries are accumulative. As I'm turning sixteen in a few weeks, my name would originally go in four times. But thanks to the tesserae, my name is being entered into the reaping thirty times.

It's insulting to say I'm surprised to find out Lune knows about – and has probably taken – tesserae. We, unlike the standard mindless Careers, do our research. For instance; sure, anyone can throw a knife. But to actually kill something, you have to take a knife, feel its weight, see your target, and find the right aim and trajectory and force to put behind the blade for anything to be affective. And all of that has to be done in the instant you see your enemy. Lune can say the same with her spears.

I remember, at twelve, I found a book on edible plants and animals in Lune's bag. "Shut up, airhead," she said, snatching it out of my hand. "You can never be too prepared. Do you know how many Careers rely on the food supply in the Cornucopia?" A few days later, I borrowed the book from her.

We take an excessively long time getting ready. With about six hours to kill, why not? But really, those six hours are a blur to me; all I could think about was getting onto the stage in front of all District 2, in front of all of Panem. Soon, not as soon as I had hoped, we're showered, dressed, dolled up and in our roped off areas in our age groups. Huh, I didn't even notice my finger getting pricked by the Peacekeeper. Actually, I do. The Peacekeeper was my brother's friend that I had met in the academy…

Lune nudges my arm and I look up. Nare Kinton, the escort of our district, stands with the microphone in his hand. He's wearing a ridiculous bright yellow suit – the left side tight as if made as a second skin, the right flopping and waving in the wind. His long, matching yellow hair is styled pin-straight down for the ground, as if gravity were too much for it. He starts talking and I honestly can't pay attention whatsoever. I can feel Lune, in her ruffled ivory dress, trembling with excitement. I'm bursting with anticipation and stare at the large glass sphere on the stage that carry hundreds, maybe thousands of slips of paper, thirty of those slips hold my name.

I crane my head to get a better view, on my toes already. Lune holds my hand as Nare excitedly hops to the ball of female slips with the ever-so-original "Ladies first!" The slip is in his hand now. The slip is opening in his hand now. The slip is being read in his hand now.

Suddenly Lune squeezes my hand so tightly that I have to cry out. Hands are now around me, propelling me forward and I'm vaguely aware of Lune trying to hold on to mine. She must be jealous it's my name being called.

My name.

I've been picked.

_I've been picked!_

"I knew it," I say to myself, grinning ear to ear in triumph. I climb the steps of the stage with an air of confidence. No one can hear me say this to myself since the cheering is too loud to even hear Nare trying to ask for volunteers. There are none. At least, I think so. The crowd is cheering so much that anyone yelling as a volunteer would be drowned out. This only boosts my ego. Everyone seems to know me. Or, at least, my family.

Nare finally gets the crowd to settle enough to ask for the umpteenth time for volunteers. This time, it's clear there are none.

Unlike some of those backwards, poor districts – like 11 or 12 – being in the Games is a thing of honor. And in 2, we have this little unofficial system among us potential tributes. Let's say a kid from the poor parts gets chosen, anyone can volunteer to take the pitiful child's place. It's also the same if a boy or girl is below the age of fifteen, Career or not. However, if a suitable Career is picked, the only reason you can have to volunteer is if you intransigently believe you are a more capable tribute than him/her. This ensures that District 2 will have a higher chance of winning, and therefore sustaining our high status and wealth among the other districts. The fact that no one volunteers to take my place reinforces the fact that _this is my year_.

I can only grin down at the crowd, picking out people I know and beam at them. Nare moves on to the boys' glass ball and reaches in. I spot Lune in the crowd and I give her a wink. Suddenly the crowd thunders again and I realize I missed the name of the boy who will be my tribute partner. A young man, scruffy looking but still attractive, mounts the steps towards me. Not bad. Obviously a Career, but not an active one. Taller than most, shorter than some, has some meat on his bones. I can easily take him if I have to.

As the crowd begins to die down, I hear a single roar midst the crowd. "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Although I was expecting this to happen, I can't say I'm not amused by the slight surprise of my tribute partner and the delight of Nare. I see myself on the large screens surrounding the area so all may see the stage. It's odd seeing myself in such high definition; radiating with happiness in my dark green dress. Half of the screens are devoted to me while the others are to my two-minute-old tribute partner being booted off the stage. Hopefully my new tribute will be more of a challenge. I look away from the screens and see Lune scowling. Is she still jealous?

The new tribute takes goes with Nare to take his place as my new tribute partner.

I would be jealous too, if Lune got up to be a tribute before me. But she must be happy for me. She knows how much I've dreamed of this. Sure, I guess she's dreamed of being chosen as much as me. But she doesn't have as much pressure on her shoulders as I do.

"Tell me your name, young man," Nare more commands than asks with a perfect half-sphere smile.

But I guess I'll allow her to be upset for a little while. I give her a sympathetic smile to show her that I know that she's bitter about this. But then I notice Lune's eyes stray away from me and I feel slightly hurt. She can't be that mad at me, can she?

"…Pitney."

My smile falters slightly and Lune locks eyes with me once more, with an intensity I only see when a javelin is in her hands. Her lips move but it's so fast I hardly notice. I slightly raise an eyebrow that only she would notice. She mouths the words to me again, slower and it takes me a moment to realize. _Pay attention._

I snap out of myself and glance at Nare. He's grinning down at me with his perfect, surgically rounded teeth. I realize he's beckoning me to shake hands with my partner tribute. How stupid of me, I almost made a complete fool of myself. Plus, I've lost time measuring up my potential adversary.

Turning, I reach out to shake hands with the boy who will be my ally and opponent. The first thing I register is how tall he is; I make it up to his shoulder. I look up to make eye contact. The second things I notice are his eyes. His eyes are an almost unnatural blue, a lightning blue that pierces right through me. The third thing I notice is his cocky smirk. That horrible smirk I know too well. The mocking smirk I face every day. The fourth and final thing; who he is entirely.

"I give you the tributes of District 2! Clove Silver and Cato Pitney!"

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_Author's Note: So! How did you like it? This is my first fanfiction I've written and I'm desperate for feedback XD Expect the second chapter... not too soon... =3 Thanks for reading!_


	2. The Meeting Room

_Author's Note: So... um... yeah. This is chapter two XD So I'm pretty sure I didn't do a disclaimer in the last chapter, but I do not own the Hunger games. I don't know if you noticed or not, but I'm not Susan Collins. _

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**Chapter Two**

Cato Pitney.

I can feel my stomach knot together, liquefy and drop into my shoes. My mind goes blank for a moment. Then it sinks in and my mind trips over itself with incoherent thoughts. The first thing I can decipher is one question; Why him? But I can't even ask that, really. He wasn't reaped. He volunteered. That makes the situation even worse. Cato Pitney has just volunteered to kill me, or be killed by me.

I've trained for this day since I was a child. I have a sturdy built crowd face that I use to charm and manipulate the other Careers in the academy. Sometimes I do it because it's necessary. But mostly, it's to see how well I can mold them to my desire. However, now, I can't find that foundation I've spent so long building. All I can manage is to stare out above the crowd with dry eyes and a bright smile plastered on my face. I can't even focus my attention long enough to know who'll be mentoring me. All those years, all that time, building something that was so fragile it crumbled at the sight of this person.

I can't say me and this person are _friends_, per say. But I know him well enough. It's just that there are so many things that connect me to him. We've trained with each other's parents; we go to the same academy; we both specialize in blades; I'm best friends with his sister. No, we're not friends. But we have this certain understanding with one another.

The crowd continues to cheer as I'm taken into custody with Pitney. I do manage to keep my crowd face up until the Peacekeepers direct me to my meeting room. When the door closes, I flop onto the couch and bury my face into a pillow.

Then why am I getting so worked up over this person? When we see each other, it's almost an instinct for us to spit insults. I don't even remember when we started hating each other, but that's the only relationship we've had. Sure, there were those times when we would actually talk, but…

The door opens and I jolt up, my crowd face on. It's a good thing, too, because my parents sweep into the room. The air around them literally exudes excitement and pride. That's right; I'm supposed to be just as ecstatic. I can't let this minor obstacle of killing Cato ruin the event of my life.

"My baby!" my mother exclaims as she wraps her arms around me. Actually, before she gives me a hug, she takes my face in her hands and examines me, as if analyzing if my looks are suitable for the Capitol televisions.

My mother is known around the academy as a beauty. _As dangerous as she is beautiful, _my father would say with smugness. My father likes to make it seem as though he doesn't try to be handsome, but really spends as much time in front of a mirror as much as my mother does. Here in District 2, nothing less than perfection is ever accepted.

My father pries her away from me and sits down on the chair opposite of me. He's grinning broadly, but is working into a business-like expression. "Now, we don't have much time for that," he says, looking me in the eye. "We gotta talk strategy, baby."

Mother sits up and fixes her dress and takes a breath to calm her down. "You're right, Fen." She turns to me and suddenly these people aren't my parents anymore, but Career Trainers. "Just because you're going to the Capitol doesn't mean you can neglect your training, Clove."

"That's right. And keep an eye on that Pitney boy too."

The crowd face cracks ever so faintly at the mention of him.

"Oh, yes," my mother agrees. "No matter what, never keep your back to him. You're going to be allies with him, because he's a Career as well, but be sure he never gets a chance to take you out."

_Take me out?_ I narrow my eyes. "I can take him," I say fiercely, offended that my own parents doubt my capabilities against a big, empty-headed guy like _Cato Pitney._

"Baby," my dad says with no endearment behind the word, "I've personally trained the boy. I know for a fact that he'll be your greatest alley and your most formidable enemy."

The Career Trainers continue to give me tips and advice for another minute before they're escorted out by the Peacekeepers. No goodbye, no kiss on the cheek, no good luck. I know all of their affection will be given to me after I come back as a victor and I have to make them proud. The next time I see them, I will be a victor. Not Pitney. This is my year. Not his.

I close my eyes and allow my mind to immerse itself in the Games, what different arenas have been used before and what tactics I would use. The door quietly opens and I smell sweat, dust and uncleanliness. My nose wrinkles and I open my eyes.

A scrawny boy, maybe twelve, looks down at his tatters shoes, his face red as his hair with embarrassment. His clothes are stained and dirty from God-knows-what. Normally, someone of my class wouldn't even acknowledge this boy's existence. But I, unfortunately, know him.

"Riley," I say with a gentleness that surprises even myself. His face reddens more and he tucks his chin into his chest. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be home with Kiya?"

He nods but says nothing. I realize he's fiddling with something in his hands.

"Riley?"

Slowly, as if building courage, Riley looks up at me. But only long enough to hand me the object in his hands and quickly looks back down at his shoes. I raise an eyebrow and look and what he shoved into my hand.

It was a silver bracelet. Given, the silver was tarnished, but it looked like it was a treasured thing. It had many, tiny thin rectangular links. There was also a diamond embedded in the bracelet the size of my thumb nail. It was a thick bracelet, so the diamond must have been either thick too, or there were two separate diamonds; one on each side. This one bracelet could feed Riley and little six-year-old Kiya for months.

"M-Miss Clove," he says, just barely above a whisper. I look up from the bracelet. He's playing with loose threads from his shirt. "P-please… w-wear that f-f-for the-the Hunger Ga-games…"

A token. I had completely forgotten about getting one. But this bracelet must be important to Riley if he hasn't sold it yet. Then it clicks. "Riley… was this your mother's bracelet?"

He continues to look down at his shoes and wipes his nose on his sleeve.

I remember taking out my first tesserae exchange close to four years ago. My parents were Career Trainers then as well, so I was well off even then. So why would I want to keep oil and low quality grain home with me? Plus, if the kids in my neighborhood saw me with that, they would start taking tesserae out too, and then my whole plan would be ruined. So I decided I was going to just dump it somewhere and go home. I didn't know where I was going, though, so before I knew it, I was in the grimy parts of District 2. I understood then why there were people who actually needed to take out tessera. Some of the houses I passed were no bigger than my living room.

But there was this one house that really stuck me; it was a miracle it was still standing. Parts of the roof had actually already broken in; the windows boarded up with wood to keep out wind; vines grew and died on the walls. If it weren't for the sound of a baby crying inside, I would've thought it was abandoned. I went to it and opened the door – actually, I just moved it, since it wasn't on any hinges. The inside was just as pitiful as the exterior. What was even more pitiful was the sight of a little malnourished looking eight-year-old boy trying to sooth a two-year-old with a bit of moldy bread.

From then on, I took my tesserae bag to that house every month. I would even be so gracious as to put in some apples, or some blankets. The boy never spoke to me for the first year. But I brought his sister a little toy doll I used to play with, he finally told me their names. Slowly, bit by bit, I learned their story. Their mother died a few months before that first day I met them, from an infected cut that they couldn't afford to tend. Riley had to watch his mother die while making sure him and his sister didn't follow after her.

I look down at the tarnished bracelet and know in that instant that I can never accept it. But this, to Riley, is like repaying me. If I were to reject it, he may never be able to repay me. So I smile and put my hand on his dirty shoulder.

"I'll wear it, Riley," I say. "But I promise, when I get back, the first I'll do is give this back, okay? Plus, I'll pay you for letting me borrow it."

Riley looks at my hand, up at me, then quickly back at the ground. He nods. "T-then m-make sure… m-make sure you win…" And, with impeccable timing, the Peacekeepers come in and Riley shuffles out of the room.

This is another reason why I have to win this year. If I don't take food for Riley and Kiya, who will? Sure, Riley's old enough to take out his own tesserae, but I've been giving them oil and grain for five people and it still doesn't seem to be enough.

My resolve nearly entirely crumbles as my next visitor steps into the room. Lune. She can't be here to cheer me on, because I'm against her brother. But she can't be here to show me her distain, either. Lune knows that not showing her face to me would be more than enough. And here she is.

Quietly, she enters the room and sits next to me. There's space between us, and from that space I know that I won't be the first to speak. But as the moments pass and time with her ticks away, I can't contain myself any longer.

"What am I going to do, Lune?" I burst. My crowd face falls away from me and I look at her. She's not looking at me, but straight ahead, as if in contemplation. I hate it when she does this, because Lune can get lost in her own mind to the point where if I were to stab her right now, she wouldn't notice. "Lune!" I shout, angry now.

When she doesn't answer me, I get up off the couch. "Why're you here then? Huh? If you're not going to talk to me, why're you here? To make me lose confidence in myself because your brother is facing against me?" my voice rises and I start to shake. "Well, you know what? I can kill him! I'd be happy to kill that bastard! I'll enjoy cutting him to pieces for the entertainment of all of Panem! What do you say to that, huh, Lune? Are you happy now? You can just GO!"

"Clove," she says, looking up at me. The anger rushes out of me. Lune never uses my name. "Winning is everything?"

She says this like it's some sort of question. I'm still spinning from my rage that I don't answer.

"Winning is everything, _right_?" Lune repeats. Her expression is the same as when I spotted her in the crowd not ten minutes ago.

Slowly, I nod.

"Well, what if it isn't?"

What if winning isn't everything? What is she talking about? That one phrase is what we've been living on our entire lives.

"I… I don't understand." I give her a look to explain but she just sighs in frustration and shakes her head.

"Nevermind then," Lune closes her eyes and rubs her temples the way she does when she's given up on something. But what is she giving up on? "Are you sure you can kill him?"

"…I'm capable of it." I don't like such direct questions.

Footsteps can be heard from the hall and her eyes snap open. She speaks in a hurry now. "But you can't."

My eyes narrow. "I could if I wanted to."

"But you _don't_ want to."

"Where are you going with this?"

The door opens and a pair of Peacekeepers enters.

Lune stands up and takes my hands. She's still talking quickly. "Look, I want you home just as much as I want Cato home." The Peacekeepers are politely asking her to leave and she makes a sound of annoyance. "Just be sure you're not the one who kills him, okay?"

The Peacekeepers now have their hands on Lune and have to physically direct her out the door. She turns her head back in my direction and yells "Victory is not winning, Clove! Not for you or him!"

The door shuts and it's like Lune's voice echoes through the room. But really, it's only echoing in my head.

_Victory is not winning. Not for you or him._

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_Author's note: So there it is, chapter two for you all. If you wanna give me your opinions on the story so far, feel free. It makes me happy when I get reviews XD Anyway, thanks! _


	3. Little White Lie

_Author's Note: Okay, third chapter up and ready! If you haven't already noticed, my writing consists a lot of self-reflection by the characters. So... uh... be prepared for long paragraphs... _

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**Chapter Three**

What did she mean by that?

I pick up the pieces of my crowd face and put it back together as best I can. Peacekeepers come to escort me to the fabled train that travels over two hundred miles an hour. As I walk down the hall to the departing dock, I know I'm not ready to face the cameras yet.

_"What if it isn't?"_

I pretend to trip and fall onto the ground. The Peacekeepers are at my side in an instant. Well, they were always at my side anyway. I wave off their concern and, with a cheery face, say that I'm really just in shock at being reaped and need a moment to soak it all in. Apparently this happens a lot, because they give me some space. Thankfully, Peacekeepers are very polite in District 2 because the Capitol favors us. But I can hear them whisper about feminine emotions and I have a sudden urge to drive a nice steak knife into their exposed backs.

But I use this brief time to think. Something tells me that Lune was actually trying to tell me something useful. But talking in riddles right now doesn't do me much good. Maybe… maybe she wasn't trying to tell me something useful at all. It would be understandable that Lune would want to have her brother home over anything else. So did she come just to mess with my head? To make me question the one sentence I've held onto my whole life?

She may be my best friend, but in the Hunger Games, that matters as much as dirt. Lune will do anything to have her brother home safe, and I don't blame her. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up. She's fighting for her brother, so I have to fight for myself twice as much. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I use the thoughts of my knives cutting into the skin of the Peacekeepers taunting me to calm down. In the Games, I'll kill whoever I have to.

"What's the hold up?" I hear from the door.

"Miss Silver needed a minute," one of the Peacekeepers said, surprised by the force of the voice.

"Well, tell Sunshine to _hurry the hell up_!" The voice was loud and filled with authority for what sounded like an aged woman. It demands obedience and promises persecution to insubordination. Sadly, I know this voice well.

I hear heels clicking down the hall and I open my eyes. A pair of dark brown stare me down. She's dressed sensibly; in a long dark red skirt with a matching blazer. It's spotted with random, neon rhinestones just to satisfy those who may be watching in the Capitol. Her short cropped, dyed brown hair is fixed in ridiculous flowers that do not suit her stony expression. I stand up straight, my crowd face stitching itself in her presence. "Hello."

She fixes a strand of my hair behind my ear and gives my cheek a sharp pat. "Well, now, is that any way to greet your grandma, Sunshine? I haven't seen you in months and I don't even get a smile out of you?" She's saying this sarcastically, because she herself never smiles.

Without even waiting for a retort, she snatches my hand and struts down the hall. With her air of superiority, my grandmother sweeps passed the Peacekeepers with me in tow. I now have my head to wonder why she's the one seeing me off when she hadn't even bothered to meet with me in the visiting time. Did she want to be on camera? No, she's not that vain and wouldn't be damned to get dressed in _color _unless she had to. And then I understand; Reen Silver is my mentor.

How typical. This is another one of the Capitol's rouses for drama. How exciting and saddening it must be for a past victor to have to mentor her beloved granddaughter as she fights to the death in the arena. Of course, something like this has lost its originality years ago; in fact, my father had been rumored to have been purposely reaped three times in consecutive years in an attempt to build a spectacle. Or, as the Capitol would put it, _a complete coincidence_. However, because of the unofficial volunteering rule we have, there was always someone to take my father's place on the stage. I suppose I actually never had to take those tesserae to get reaped; the Capitol is trying again anyway.

But this just means I have more to prove. In my grandmother's eyes, I will never be worthy of the Silver name unless I prove myself. My father did that by training the victors that have come back from District 2. Now I have to be a victor myself.

I go to board the train with a radiant smile. It's no disbelief that Cato has the cameras following after his every breath, so I purposely trip and laugh at myself to bring the attention to where it should be; on me. The Peacekeepers are immediately at my side and the cameramen trip over themselves to get a shot of clumsy little me. Once on the train, I quickly go to the window and wave goodbye to my district and all the cameras that are there. It surprises me when I turn and see Reen doing the same thing.

"You have a good audience appearance, Sunshine," Reen says approvingly. I could say the same for her. I've never seen her look so approachable than just now, looking out at Panem. "Go wash up and get ready for dinner."

Without another word, my grandmother leaves me without showing me where my room is. Oh well. I like exploring. And then I hear a snickering from behind me. No surprise that it's the blonde airhead with that winning smirk of his.

"What do you want?" I sneer. I'm getting better at handling myself.

"Nothing, _Sunshine._" He snorts and runs his hand through his hair. Pitney looks me up and down, seizing me up like a piece of meat. I grit my teeth as he chuckles mockingly. "Looks like this'll be the quickest Games yet."

"You're right," I spit with sweet acid in my tone. "Because while you're busy flexing your muscles at the Capitol, you won't notice my knife until I choke you with your own intestines."

Cato walks towards me and I have a strange urge to take a step back. I would have, if my back weren't already against a window. He towers over me, his smirk twisting into a jeer. "Sunshine, you won't even get that far."

We scowl at each other for a moment, trying to see which one will show weakness first. But I know that if I'm late for dinner, Reen will give me hell. Angrily, I push Cato away from me and stomp down to wherever I expected my room to be. As I do, I hear that idiot cackling away in the room I left him.

They layout of the train wasn't that difficult to figure out. After a few minutes of stomping around, I find what should probably be my room. This is good because I couldn't be damned enough to ask someone where my room was. I slam my door with a satisfactory bang and lean against it. Suddenly I'm winded. The first exchange Cato and I have since the Reaping, and it's filled with death threats. But… I'm fine with that. It'll make things easier if I hate him. And I will hate him. I will learn to hate him.

Well, first, I better take things one step at a time. Not getting killed by Reen before I even make it into the arena. The room is roughly the same size as my room at home, but much more garish with District 2 pride; the crest on the curtains and bed sheets and paintings of the mountains mounted on the walls. This unsettled me somehow, despite the designers attempting to make the tributes feel "at home". But to me, this décor says "You're not fighting for yourself. You're fighting for your whole district."

I turn away from the paintings and the curtains and head to the bathroom. Step one; shower. Step two; get dressed in whatever is in my drawer. Step three; go to dinner and survive small talk with my grandmother. I suppose I'll get through it by imagining her death. The water was warm and it calmed my muscles, despite the scented soaps burning my sense of smell. Still, with my body warmed and my mind soaked in blood, I'm almost completely at ease.

The clothes in my dresser consist of girlish things that the designers feel I'll be deprived of once I enter the arena. Floral blouses, sun dresses, skirts that looked to be made entirely out of rhinestones. Luckily, that was only the first dresser. The Capitol like everything in excess, and therefore provided a second and even third dresser (plus a closet) to choose from. I manage to scavenge a plain yellow button up chemise (_Sunshine) _and navy slacks from the pink wreckage. I don't have time to do my hair, so I keep it down. Everything in here sickens me. I wonder if the Capitol will allow me to kill the suppliers of this train.

That's another thought I'll hold onto while enduring dinner. And by the looks of it, as I'm the last one to walk into the dining room and become the object of disapproving looks, I'll need it. I notice that, along with Reen, Brutus Lott will also be my mentor. He sits beside Pitney, who I can already tell is constructing stupid, condescending insults in his empty skull. He has even been so thoughtful as to make sure I sit directly across from him.

As I sit down and dinner is being set in front of us, Nare Kinton claps his hands with his half-circle smile. "Wonderful. Now, we're slightly behind schedule, but it's good to be fashionably late, am I right?"

"Of course," Pitney offers. Even though I'm looking down at my plate, I can see in my peripherals that he's smirking at me, silently mocking me. _Ain't that right, Sunshine?_

I grind my teeth for a moment and smile pleasantly at Nare. "You're right. It makes more of an impression that way." My smile turns icy as I look to Cato and my mind goes to the lovely bread knife at the end of the table.

Brutus lets out a hearty laugh and hits the table. "Do I sense some sort of rivalry here already?"

"They should be," Reen says smoothly as she takes a sip of her bright blue drink. "They've been training in the same academy since they could walk." She fixes me with her stare. "Both must be itching to get into the arena."

Whether it's her intimidating presence or her multiple implications, I find myself at loss for words for a moment. Thankfully, Pitney talks enough for the both of us. "Don't know about Sunshine here, but I've never wanted anything more than to get into the Games this year."

This catches me. I look at Cato and we make eye contact for a brief moment before he grins at Nare. But I know what he was thinking. And he knows that I remember the same thing. I eat whatever is in front of me while Nare and Pitney make conversation, Reen offering a comment every now and then.

Nare graciously turns on the television at the side of the room. We watch a short version of the Reapings that occurred around Panem. I pay attention to this, measuring up my competition. My soon-to-be-allies from District 4 seem weak and, therefore, expendable. None really bother me, except for the male in District 11. A volunteer from District 12, not bad. The replay ends and I decide now would be a good time to leave.

But before I can make my escape, Brutus talks. "Hmm… rivals," Brutus didn't seem to be paying attention since he spoke last. He stroked his whiskery chin and grinned toothily. "That could be a good angle for you two." When we all look at him in a confused silence, he continues on. "Hear me out, now. I'm just throwing ideas around. But an open rivalry will set the pace for the sponsors to take you on."

Reen picks this up right away. She nods in approval. "Usually, rivalry is among the same gender to be more evenly matched."

"And from different districts to get some pride going," Brutus' eyes spark with past bloodlust as he remembers killing his own rival in his Games. He killed the rest of the Careers in a mudslide he triggered and decapitated his rival's head for good measure.

"But because you two are different genders, the Capitol will be dying to know your stories," Reen carries on. "Females would be shamed not to sponsor Clove for '_girl power'_."

"It'll be so dramatic! District 2 will be the center of attention!" Nare says excitedly.

Brutus takes a big bite from whatever meat was on his plate. "And from the looks of your competition, it'll probably be down to you two anyway. The final battle will be stuff legends are made out of!" He chews like a cow.

This is when I decide I should leave before I lose composure. I push myself from the table and excuse myself. This was getting a bit too much for one day. I've already made my resolve. To win, to hate him, to kill him if I have to. But there's still something, a small something, that's screaming that this is not how it's supposed to be. I have to settle myself somehow. And then Lune comes to mind. Her and her damn mind tricks. I start walking faster.

Cato said that he wanted nothing more than to get into the Hunger Games. Why did he say that? I want to talk to him, but I don't know how to start a conversation without having the urge to spit insults and threats.

I stop. Where was exactly was I walking to? Did I have any destination in mind? I look around and find myself in front of a bedroom door. But I'm pretty sure the direction of my room is the opposite way I walked. I hear footsteps behind me, but they're almost silent. It's probably one of the workers that are here to tend to me.

"Waiting for someone, Sunshine?"

Even worse. I turn and – speak of the devil – Pitney is smirking down at me, leaning against the wall as if he had been there the whole time. It's like he knew exactly how to get under my skin. "Let me guess. You realized how hot and wonderful I am, so you decided to come to my room so we could have a little fun before we have to kill each other."

This crude comment makes my face heat, but I won't let it phase me. I know it's now or never. "You want nothing more than to be in the Games?"

His smile might have been charming if it weren't so pompous. "Should I take that as a yes?"

"Why did you lie?"

"I didn't."

"Liar."

Cato rolls his eyes and starts walking to his door. "Kid, I don't know what you're talking about."

My fists clench and I say through gritted teeth "Of course you do. You never wanted to be part of this. You said so yourself."

He looks as if he's amused by my anger. "People change, Sunshine."

I run my hands roughly through my hair. My voice rises in a mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. "You're not getting it! You don't understand what you've done!" My fist makes contact with the wall, causing a nearby picture to crash onto the floor. The glass shatters. I can relate to it. "Just tell me why… Why did you volunteer?"

He looks at me, his smirk fading for a moment. For that moment, I feel like he's not sure why he did himself. Is that guilt I see or pain? And then that moment passed, his smirk reanimated and his eyes become guarded once again.

"What?" Cato says while smirking cruelly. "Are you gonna cry or something?" He barks out a laugh and ruffles my hair as he continues to walk past me. "Don't worry, kid. It's not like I volunteered for you or something."

The door shuts behind him and it's like the hallway temperature drops ten degrees. That one conversation was supposed to settle me. But it did just the opposite. More questions invade my mind. I look back at the door which Pitney disappeared behind, tempted to knock it down and interrogate him. But instead, I kick the broken glass on the ground and go to my room.

My mind is buzzing, even after I tear down the paintings of my district, rip off the crest-filled curtains, slash my blankets. I lie in my bed in the middle of the rubble and try to block out everything. I name off different knives silently and squeeze my eyes shut, commanding sleep to take me away. I don't know how or when, but I manage to fall asleep. And then, in my half-sleep stage, I realize what's worse than being awake – dreams.

The last thing I need are dreams that summon memories.

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_Author's Note: Okay, I'm so excited to write the next chapter! I'll give you a little spoiler - Most of it will be in italics. XD If you have any ideas I could use, want to tell me something you like or something I should focus on or even just some constructive criticism, feel free to tell me~ It makes me happy when I get reviews._

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_


	4. Weight Room

**Chapter Four**

_I'm still buzzing from my very first free training session as an official Potential Tribute. Since I'm only eleven – turning twelve soon! – I've only been allowed to have primary lessons. It kind of sucks because it's either both just me and the trainer, or with younger, stupid kids who can't hold a spear right. But I'm turning twelve in less than three months, and since my best friend, Lune, and I are the best in the class, we can go to the free training session!_

_ In a nutshell, free training is mostly just developing your combat skills. They have everything from hand-to-hand combat to knot tying. There also used to be some sections for survival – like building shelters or making fires and such – but the Potential Tributes put them in the storage closet to make room for axe-throwing ranges. If you wanted to learn about survival, you'd have to go to the – ugh – _library. _I went to library when I had primary group lessons, because I already knew the basics before I knew the basics of math. But now that I'm allowed into the free training sessions, I don't think I'll never go to the library again. _

_ In free training, only those on the stronger side of thirteen and over can participate. Anyone younger would be too intimidated to continue with training. But it was really just exhilarating. I've never seen so much power shown in one place. One older girl could shred a dummy with two daggers in her lightning quick hands. A short and stocky boy could release his arrow with so much force it went through three targets. I wanted to try my hand against all of them, in all the sections. But Lune forced me to train in my knives section as she went to her javelins. _

_ In my frantic excitement to gush to my brothers – about how I was better than most of the older Potentials – that I forgot my sandals in my locker. The training center was open until ten at night, for if you want to get a jump on your competitors. No one usually stays after six on a Friday night, though, and it's almost nine now. I wouldn't take long; just take my sandals, probably take my new book _Muttations of the Capitol_ and be out of there in less than ten minutes. But, while skipping down the hall with my sandals and book in my bag, I see the weight room's light on. _

_ Some Potentials were so empty headed that they can't even remember to turn off a light. I shake my head and go to turn it off. Then I hear the clinking of metal against metal and the familiar sound of strained, rhythmic breathing. Quietly, I peer inside and see a lone person in the far end of the room lying on the bench of a lifting machine. He was taking it slow, but didn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. Usually, that wouldn't trouble me; I would just assume he was a hardworking person. What really caught my attention was how much he was lifting – it was much more than what is advised for any age. _

_ I quickly go over to the Potential. "Hey," I say as I draw near. He doesn't acknowledge my existence. The bulging muscles and throbbing veins in the Potential's arms frighten me. I briskly go to the back of the machine and press the emergency hold button. Immediately, the weights in the machine freeze in place, making it impossible to lift. There's a confused grunt and the Potential bolts up._

_ "What the fuck?" he roars. I glance around the back of the machine and see Lune's older brother – about fifteen by now – tear off his mini speakers you can plug into your ears. He has the deepest scowl I've ever seen anyone have. He must have caught a glimpse of me, because he whips his head and directs that scowl at me. "What the fuck."_

_ Lune's brother was named Cato. I've never really talked to him, or seen much of him. And I guess I know why now; he's always here. I've heard a few stories float around about Cato being the Potential to beat, even at his age. Apparently he was sparring with a boy in hand-to hand and, in the heat of the moment, snapped his neck and didn't blink twice. Some people are already terrified of him because of that, but the story was hushed up so parents would still send their children to the training center._

_ "It's dangerous to lift that much," I say calmly._

_ He wipes the sweat from his forehead. "Does it look like I care, stupid?" Yup, he was Lune's brother. _

_ There's a towel on the rack next to me, and I toss it to him. His sweatiness was kind of gross. "You'll pull a muscle. You won't be in any condition to enter the Games like that, _stupid_." _

_ Cato wipes off his face and lowers the towel. I lean against the machine next to me and, just as I was about to say something witty, he decides now was the time to take off his shirt. I feel my face heat and suddenly the floor is very interesting to look at. A mocking snicker is thrown at me. "Embarrassed, princess?" _

_ My cheeks flush darker and I quickly shake my head. My breath gets caught in my throat and I can't speak. He laughs heartily and this time it's not mocking; a real laugh. He takes a moment to breath and I feel like the kid I've tried so hard not to be. "Is this your first time seeing a guy shirtless or something, kid?" Great, now he's even calling me a kid._

_ In an attempt to redeem my pride, I manage to muster, in a squeaky voice "N-no! I… I have older brothers… who don't like wearing clothes…" Even then, I still can't bring myself to look at him._

_ He chuckles again. "I meant a _real _guy," he says, as if my brothers weren't real people. "C'mon, kid. What if, in the arena, you get attacked by a naked guy who got his clothes stolen by some mutt. Are you just gonna close your eyes and hope he kills you quick?" _

_ I keep my eyes shut, not sure if he was actually giving me some helpful advice or just mocking me again._

_ Suddenly, I feel my face being pulled up by his hand. Either his hand was huge, or my face was ridiculously small. But I squeeze my eyes shut as Cato holds my face. Even then, I'm completely aware of his proximity to me, so close I can feel his breath. This makes me want to keep my eyes shut all the more._

_ "I saw your fancy throwing today," Lune's brother says, his breath washing over me. "It was impressive. But it takes more than that to win. C'mon kid," he mutters, "show me what you got."_

_ It's in my nature to never back down from a challenge. And also in my nature to get angry when someone underestimates me. So, slowly, I open my eyes to the sight of Cato with a small mischievous grin on his face. For a fraction of a second, I can't control myself and look down. Just as quickly, I look back up, my face on fire. Oh god, he was so hot. He must have seen that little relapse in focus – how could he not? – because his good-natured smile evolves into a smirk. But I won't close my eyes; I stare up at him with my red face and defiant expression._

_ He raises an eyebrow, seeing if my stare will break, but after a moment, he lets go of my face and lets out a laugh. His voice was already so deep. Cato pats my head and lies back onto the bench of the machine again. "Alright, kid, you're good. Now scram, it's passed your bedtime."_

_ I frown at him. "You're going to go keep lifting."_

_ Now, he decides that ignoring me is best. He puts his little ear speakers and I grab his arm. Cato gives me a look, his good humor already fading from his face. "What is it now?"_

_ "You're gonna get hurt lifting so much," I say with a firm grip on his arm. _

_ Cato rips off his ear speakers and gives me the famous Pitney Stare. "What does it matter? Either get hurt now or get killed later in the arena, right?"_

_ "But if you get hurt now, you won't be able to win," I argue. _

_ His scowl was so intense that the thought of the boy he _accidentally_ killed flashed through my mind. I instantly let go of his forearm. But his eyes showed that it wasn't meant for me, that he was thinking of something else. "That's all I can do," he muttered. _

_ "…Get hurt?"_

_ "Win," Cato says shortly. When my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, he sighs in frustration. "Winning is everything."_

_ I nod, not sure if he was asking._

_ "Well," he runs his hand through his hair, not even acknowledging my nod. "What if it isn't?" He looks me directly in the eye, searching for my understanding._

"_What if… it isn't?"_

"_You're a smart girl, kid, I'm sure you can make something outta yourself," Cato says, disregarding my question. He looks down at his hands. There's a long pause and I don't want to break the silence. He speaks slowly, as if letting his thoughts get in the way of his articulation. "This is all I am, all I've ever been. A Potential. But there's thousands of Potentials. Thousands of people like me. What'll become of us when the one going to the Capitol isn't us?"_

_Since, I was too caught up in his words to realize that's a rhetorical question, I say "A Peacekeeper."_

_He chuckles without humor and looks at me. "Yeah. Leave the district. That's what I'll do. If I can't go to the Games, I'll be too ashamed to do anything else. If I can't be in District 2 as a victor, I'll die somewhere else; either in the arena or someplace far away."_

_Those words sink in. These things he's saying have never crossed my mind. Cato's basically saying that our lives are only for the sake of the Games. And… in a way… he's right. But I was taught that the Games are meant to keep peace, and being a Peacekeeper doesn't sound too bad. Or a Career Trainer, like our parents. Why does it seem like Cato doesn't want any of this? _

"_I'm only worth as much as I can lift," he mutters, looking back at his hands. They turn into fists. "We weren't given a choice of how we'll live, if we wanted this. No, we were_ bred,_ not born. W__e've been bred as _entertainers_." _

_He doesn't want this. I was right. That's exactly what he's saying. Cato wants to be one of those mundane teenagers who only talk of the Games but don't have a hope of being in it. He wants to be a boring, normal guy with a boring, normal life with boring, normal friends. I don't know why, but that's what he wants. I've never wanted that. There's no purpose in just doing nothing with yourself. That's how most Potentials feel. I thought that's what _all _Potentials thought. But what doesn't make sense is why he says these things, but doesn't act upon it._

"_Cato," I say quietly, afraid to butt into his monologue. He looks up at me, as if remembering I'm there. "Why… why do you keep training then? Why do you keep lifting if you don't want this?"_

_There's a look of relief that flashes across his face, as if someone finally acknowledging his aversion to being a Potential lifts weight off of him. "Because. If I'm born to be an entertainer, if I'm reaped, I may as well be the best damn entertainer Panem has ever seen."_

_I don't know why, really, but I feel pity for Cato. Awkwardly, I pat his arm. "There's thousands of Potentials, like you said. Unless you volunteer, there's not that much chance you'll get reaped. So… take it easy…" I look at the book on the ground that I didn't realize I dropped. "Plus, my brother told me that over-exercising when you're young makes your wiener small."_

_That makes him crack a smile. "Don't worry, kid. I don't have to worry about that." He winked at me and my now red face and I snatch my hand back from his arm. This makes him boom another laugh and thumps my back. "Ah, your expressions are priceless. Anyway, go home, it's late and your parents'll be worried."_

_I cross my arms to regain composure. "N-no! I'm responsible! A-and if I go, you'll go back to lifting again!" _

_He runs his hand through his hair and I can't help but notice how cute he looks with damp hair. "You caught me." I scowl at him and he smirks in return. "Okay, fine. How about you go home, and then I'll go home."_

"_No."_

"_Do you want to stay and watch me shower?"_

_I swear he's doing this just to destroy me. _

"_I thought not."_

_My scowl deepens and I think for a moment. How can I be sure he actually goes home? Then I have it. He looks at me as I try to mimic his intense stare. I hold out my hand. "Pinky swear."_

_For some reason, it looks like he's trying his hardest not to laugh, and failing horribly. "…You can't be serious." I stare him down and hold out my hand out to his face. "Really?"_

"_Pinky swears are on the same level as legal documents," I say. Jeez, didn't he know that? But… now that I think about it… it _is _kind of childish… Maybe he'll just brush me off and just go back to lifting, since I really can't do anything to stop him._

_His pause makes my waver in faith in the sacred pinky swear even worse. I slowly start to lower my hand when his large pinky – the size of my pointer finger – engulfs mine. "Fine," he says with the hint of a smile playing at the edge of his lips. _

_I don't know why I decided to trust him right then and there for it, but I did. I pick up my sandals and my book and I quietly leave the weights room. But I hesitate beside the door for a moment, count to a minute, and glance back into the room. Cato's still there, not lifting, but looking as if in deep thought. I briefly wonder if his calming thoughts were the same with his swords as mine were with my knives. I wonder if he, too, imagines death for peace of mind. He quickly stands up and picks up his shirt. It was so abrupt that I'm startled and immediately sprint for the exit; I don't want him to see me still here. _

_After that night, I would always _forget _my sandals or my book or my shorts or something in my locker. I would do this because I used it as an excuse to check up on Cato. And he would always be there, always in the weights room, always pulling more than what he should. Sometimes I would have to yell his name for him to acknowledge me, or pull out his ear speakers. There were times when I had to push the emergency hold button again. But, mostly, Cato would know I would be coming. My footsteps would give me away and he would stop as I enter the room, as if I were his personal alarm clock. _

_But that only lasted about two months. Cato was reaped. I couldn't tell if he was scared or excited as he walked up onto the stage. And then someone volunteered to take his place. In his fit of rage, in front of all of District 2, in front of all of Panem, he punched the volunteer in the face and a brawl broke out. Everyone was so shocked that no one stepped in until Cato had the volunteer in his hands, ready to snap a neck. And that's when people started paying attention to him. He was submerged in a group of friends everywhere he went. His smile that I was greeted with turned into an arrogant smirk. Girls swarmed him like harmless tracker jackers. And, suddenly, the weights room became empty every night. _

_Sometime after the reaping and before the 72__nd__ Hunger Games, our little hope of a friendship soured. That's the last thing I wanted, to not be friends with Cato, yet it happened. But maybe that can change. Maybe, one day, we'll be friends again. _


	5. The Golden Ones

_Author's Note: I'm so sorry! I know I haven't updated in a while, and I suck. But exam reviews are eating away at my brain. Plus the weather has been so nice recently and I've developed a problem where all I want to do is tan. But the chapter is finally done for you all. _**  
**

_Enjoy! _

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**Chapter Five**

The last time I checked a clock, it was about two thirty. The preparation team got their hands on me at around ten and hasn't taken them off since. The moment I stepped off the train, before I had a chance to give a winning smile to the cameras, I was basically whisked off my feet by God-knows-who and pretty much dragged to God-knows-where for them to do God-knows-what to me. It all happened so fast that my mind is still trying to process it all. As of right now, the three outrageous-looking people in my prep team are circling me, like a predator around its prey. But it's not like they're intimidating or anything; they're too ridiculous looking to be taken seriously by me. The only thing that got me was that they're not only ridiculous to look at, but ridiculously _thorough. _

In District 2, beauty is prided almost as much as skill. Almost as if being beautiful _is_ a skill. Both of my parents are exceptionally good looking, and I suppose I inherited some of that. But mostly, the beauty gene was soaked up by my older brothers. I – unfortunately – take after Grandma Rene, although I would never admit it aloud. Still, I like to take care of my appearance; a little more than one might think. It takes effort to make it look effortless. And it's almost offending how much work they have to do to me before I even get to see my stylist.

Most of the time was spent bathing me as if I hadn't been washed in my entire life. I've been soaked in about three different concoctions and have been washed down in just as many different mixtures. And apparently this "bathing" process needs to be done in repetition. The prep team apologizes somewhere in their babble, but it's hard to pick out. At first I attempt to keep up with their conversation in case there's something important for me to know. In time, I realize that there is no important information I should know from them. So, I fill my mind with other things to occupy me as they treat me as their doll. I think of things such as how grand my entrance will be, planning my interview angle, and trying to put the fragments together from a forgotten dream I had last night.

The ridiculous-looking-ridiculously-thorough prep team stands in front of me, seizing me up. I think part of the reason why they are so nitpicking of my appearing is because my skin isn't surgically dyed with poka-dots like – what was his name? – Victor. Or maybe it's because I don't have curly hair like Lotti that doesn't move even if she tried to give herself whiplash. It could be because Orion thought that my eyes aren't owl-like enough, like his. The morning was filled with their chatter, but suddenly, they went silent, just staring at me. Here I am, standing in front of strangers. Did I mention I'm stark naked?

Well, this isn't weird.

"…Um, can I put some clothes on?" I gingerly reach for the robe draped over the swivel chair in front one of the multiple mirrors. The mirrors aren't for my benefit.

Victor slaps at my hand and waves his finger at me. "Not just yet," he says in his surprisingly low voice.

I do my best not to scowl. I imagine doing something very violent but restrain myself. "But… it's kind of cold…"

"Don't worry," Lotti says in her shrilly, Capitol-accented voice. "Ilari should be here at any –" as she says _minute_, the door bursts opens and I feel a very cold, uncomfortable breeze. "See? Here she is!"

My stylist struts in front of me. It's kind of surprising to see how small she is; she's shorter than I am. That isn't accountable for her age, however. It's almost impossible to determine her age with her skin pulled back so tightly. Everything about her just jumps out to scare the crap out of you. Her hair was very distracting; dyed golden hair puffed out around her as if she were wearing a cloud on her head. Her clothes as well; while the prep team wore matching jumpsuits with specialized colors for each person, Ilari decided she wanted to wear something that looks to be straight out from a Capitol Culture magazine. That's not a good thing.

Before saying anything to me, she scans my body for any flaws my prep team may have missed. The three behind her shift uncomfortably, as if intimidated by this little woman. But oddly, I can relate. While the prep team examined me, I only felt mildly annoyed and uncomfortable. Ilari's eyes make me feel vulnerable.

Suddenly, Ilari claps her hands, making everyone else in the room jump out of their skin. Orion, Victor and Lotti immediately move to her side, straightening themselves up and looking as if they're preparing for a monster to emerge.

"Look at this girl," she says in her weird Capitol accent. It's a wonder how she's able to even speak without the risk of having her skin rip. She tilts me chin up with her finger even though she's already looking up at me. "What do you see?"

The prep team stumbles over each other for the correct answer. "A girl, a face, a tribute," they say all at once.

Ilari dismisses their answers as if they hadn't said anything. "I see a victor." Her tight lips curl into – what I suspect is – a smile. It's absolutely terrifying.

Despite her unsettling smile, Ilari's comment makes me swell with pride. "Thank you," I say airily.

Again, Ilari dismisses this comment. She pinches my cheek and looks at me wistfully. "I remember when I was the stylist for your grandmother like it was yesterday. It was invigorating to have such a fresh faced young girl after having so many duds before her."

If her appearance didn't confuse me enough about her age, that comment did the trick.

"Oh, yes. You are the splitting image of Reen's younger self, my dear." Great, just what I want to hear. "Now, in honor of that, you and that cute partner of yours will be dressed in the same costume as Reen's back in her year!"

That makes my eyes narrow. This was the Capitol's brilliant idea to draw attention to the family, whose odds are never in their favor, or Ilari is just a stupid, old, sentimental who has run out of ideas. But Ilari doesn't seem to be as intimidating as I had thought; in fact, she seems to be the standard, dimwitted Capitol citizen. That is fine with me, because that doesn't make her dangerous.

But that doesn't change the fact that I'm still naked.

"Can I put on some clothes?" I burst in the silence that followed. Honestly, does no one have any regard for nakedness around here?

"Hm?" Ilari already seems to have forgotten I'm here. "Ah, right, of course, Reen. We'll have lunch, also. All this work is making me hungry. Come now." She wanders off into the other room without waiting for a response, or realizing I'm not Reen.

The tension in the room dissolves and the prep team gives an audible sigh of relief. As I pull on my robe, I glance at them curiously. "Something wrong?"

Lotti ties the knot on the belt of my robe. "Oh, no, no," she said in her shrilly voice. She glances back at the boys nervously. Victor breaks first.

"That lady is just dreadful!" he gushes, the colored dots on his face pop out because of his suddenly pale face. "She may be a sweet old lady at first, but she's just _horrid._"

After this first outbreak, a rush of complaints burst so fast that I hardly have time to register each of them.

"…temperamental and…"

"She's a conniving…"

"…even remember my name…"

"…had more surgery than Caesar Flickerman…"

"…stole my idea about…"

"She ate all the rhinestones!"

Word of mouth in District 2 is that Ilari is legendary for being the stylist of nearly all of 2's victors in the past fifty years. But, from what I gather, Ilari is an old, two – or three – faced woman who keeps herself on top by destroying her competition. Huh. No wonder why she favors my grandmother. They must have gotten along famously.

Orion puts his big hands on my shoulders and looks at me with those unnaturally large eyes of his. "You be careful now, sweetie," he tells me earnestly. "You eat, make small talk, get dressed, and get the hell out of there."

I brush Orion away and wave my prep team away. "Don't worry, I can handle myself." I grin at them for their sake. "If I can handle being related to Reen, I can handle an old woman."

The other room is nothing too spectacular; just a white room with one side of entirely glass, a window looking out at the city. Ilari is already seated at the table and, without caring enough to wait for her guest, is eating what looks to be beige sauce with orange spots and red cherries on flat noodles. My mouth waters at the smell and I sit down across from her without thinking.

"Crab stew," Ilari says proudly, as if she herself had made it. "I specifically ordered it for us."

"That's nice," I say absently, filling up a plate.

"…_That's nice?_ That's all you can say?" I glance up as her voice rises, bewildered at her growing anger. "This was your grandmother's favorite dish! The kitchen hardly even remembers how to make it anymore! _You should appreciate this!"_

I hesitate. I'm not sure whether or not to retort sarcastically. "Um… that's _great?"_

Another terrifying curl of the lips. "Better." Ilari goes back to her food as if nothing happened and I'm left questioning her sanity.

As we eat, I can't help but think about Riley and his sister. When I come back, I'll make sure they will be able to eat such fancy food without having to be in the Capitol to do it. I subconsciously twist the silver bracelet around my wrist – I didn't allow them to remove it from me, in fear the halfwits would misplace it. His little sister, Kiya, would be about five or six now. I wonder if she's in school yet.

"So what do you think of that boy?" Ilari asks suddenly, having finished her food some time ago. I realize she has been sitting there just staring at me. Studying me.

"I like him," I answer immediately, thinking of Riley.

She makes a sound to what I think is supposed to be a laugh and stand up. "I don't doubt it. He's a looker, that Cato boy." My face heats as she coaxes me to my feet. I blindly follow her to the make-up counter. "Let's have some girl talk while I draw on your face." She makes the odd laughing sound again.

"I-I wasn't… I didn't mean…" I couldn't formulate words as Ilari attacks my face with brushes.

Again, as if skilled in the art, she ignores my words. "Have you made your move on him yet?" she asks, as if it's any of her business.

"Look, I don't think that –"

"Well, you should. You're not going to find a boy that handsome just anywhere, Reen," she says, again forgetting I'm not my grandmother. "And since he's going to die anyway, there's no shame in having fun with him beforehand."

Why does everyone want me to _have fun_ with Pitney? I'm too flustered to respond. But Ilari is more than content with having a one-sided conversation. "But it better before you enter the arena, Reen. A few years ago, a boy was shot in the back with a spear because he was trying to flirt with a girl from Four. Or was it in Two? Well, you get the point."

"Can we stop talking about him?" I ask warily.

"But be sure you'll get enough sleep. It's not good to stay up all night," her eye twitched in what may or may not be a wink.

That was the last straw. I scowl deeply and snap "Can I just put on my damn outfit and leave already?" I then brace myself for an outburst from my stylist.

Surprisingly, this wins Ilari over. "Just what I expect from you, Reen." She pinches my cheek and leaves my hair to do myself. "Whatever you're going to be doing with your hair in the arena, do it now." So I put it in my normal puff-balled pony tail. When I'm finished, I look around and see she's already at the three part mirror, where my ensemble awaited me.

It's a gladiator-esque costume. Golden armored breastplates, covered with what looks to be gold feathers poking out from the neck down to the abdomen. Ilari helps me put it on over black undergarments. I have to wear a heavy golden skirt. It's made of thick, stiff silk that glitters when I move. On my head, I have to wear a hefty golden hat with wings with a span that's twice the length of my actual head. On my feet are open-toe sandals, the tips of the wings reaching the middle of my calves. My wrists have bands with similar but smaller extensions. I feel like a golden turkey.

Ilari turns me to the mirrors and I'm surprised at my reflection. My make-up is relatively light, but my features are skillfully outlined with a careful hand. It doesn't hurt that my face is highlighted by the reflection of the gold. In fact, the reflective gold gives an impression that I'm glowing. The wings on my head promise that I'll fly over the competition. The armor itself foretells that I'm heading into battle. The gold says that I'm already a winner.

"You love it," Ilari says with pride as she sees my expression. "I knew it." Her lips curl up to the point where I'm afraid her skin might tear. "And Cato will love it as well."

I would scowl, but I don't want to ruin my glory with such an expression. Ilari sends me out to the lobby which will lead me to the oversized stables that hold the carriages. In the lobby, Cato is relaxing on one of the couches, dressed in a gladiator outfit like mine. The only differences are that on his head is not a cap like mine, but just a headband. His chest feathers go to his collarbone, whereas mine cover my whole neck. And, the other difference, he doesn't have armor underneath the feathers. Actually, he doesn't have anything beneath the feathers. Just bare skin. I try not to look.

"'bout time, Sunshine," Cato says. "I've been waiting forever." He pauses for a moment, watching me as I walk towards him. This makes me feel self-conscious for some reason, but I know I look as golden as my costume. "Huh. No wonder why you took so long. Your prep team did a good job of making you look presentable." He smirks and stands up, towering over me. "Now it doesn't burn when I look at you."

"You're forgetting that Capitol fashion is about looking as abnormal and horrifying as possible," I say sweetly. "That's why they didn't do anything to your appearance."

We continue to spit insults and bicker all the way to the Remake Center. All the chariots and the tributes are already lined up in their order of districts. Our stylists magically make it there before us to make sure our chariot is up to par. Cato's stylist – Welby, also quite old – had dubbed us "The Golden Ones" and had therefore requested our horses to be colored likewise. I can spot our chariot from the elevator doors. It's so bright compared to the others. I can't help but hold my head up high as I pass all the other tributes, satisfied that none of their costumes seem to hold as much impact as ours. Except for maybe One. But they're dressed in pink fluff, so I count that as just disturbing. Cato makes a point of this by stage whispering insults to me.

"Now remember," Ilari says as I mount the chariot, positioning myself the way Welby instructs, "smile and wave as much as possible. The Capitol loves a good smile. Sponsors only get to see you now and at the interview before the Games."

"You have to make an impression," Welby adds quietly, adjusting the left wing on my head.

The opening music sounds and the gates open. Ilari pats my hand, which is gripping the sides of the chariot. "Good luck now Reen," she yells over the music.

Before I can respond, the horses start to trot forward. They're so trained that they don't need a rider to conduct them when and where to go. As soon as we start moving out of the Remake Center and onto the street, I see hordes of people lined up on the streets, cheering and screaming my name. There are cameras flashing and flowers flying my way. I immediately give my best smiles, wave gracefully and blow kisses. The crowd trip over themselves to get a glimpse of me. I had been a little distraught about the twenty minute ride to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, but, if all of it is going to be like this, I hardly mind.

I realize it's not only my name the people are screaming, not only my picture they're taking, not only at me they're throwing flowers, but also Cato. I sneak a glance at him and am surprisingly pleased to see Cato is just as enthralled with all the attention as I am. He's smiling like I've never seen, waving and looking so… natural. I have the same feeling. It's like we're meant to be the center of attention. The feeling of it is amazing, the feeling of being the object of everyone's affection. The feeling of being wanted by all, it is euphoria. The people aren't looking at anyone else but us. The Golden Ones.

And then something catches my eye. It's when I turn to look at Cato's smile for the second time. Something behind us flashes, shines. The crowds on the street seem to notice as well, because their attention shifts away from us. Then they start calling out names that aren't ours. Cato takes a moment to realize what's happening and glances back as well. I have already seen. He stares for a moment then looks at me, as if to if see my reaction would give some sort explanation. On his face shows an expression of confusion, wonder and anger. I know that my face reflects his.

The tributes of District 12 are on fire.

* * *

_Author's Note: Well, there it is. It took me a week to get the first two paragraphs down, and I dedicated all of today to finishing it. XD Will power. _

_So, to make up for not updating in a while (and I probably won't update for another little while after this) I've decided to make a little one shot (there may or may not be two chapters) about Haymitch. _

_Anyway, tell me what you think of this chapter =3 If you have an idea about the plot I could use, don't hesitate to tell me! I'll even give you credit if you want. _

_Thanks for reading! _


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